Fractures of Reality
by yaba
Summary: It's not supposed to be this difficult but it is. And it's up to her to make sure that they don't crumble. Jane/Lisbon Post: 2.23. Sequel to "Dancing on the Precipice".
1. Part I: lost for words

**Fractures of Reality **

Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Lyrics by INXS.

Rating: M (for sex and language).

Spoiler: 2.23.

A/N: This story is a bit of a mind bender chronologically, but it takes place right after the season two finale. This is canon, except for one caveat. J/L are involved and this is the third installment in my established season two series. It follows "Something in Between" and "Dancing on the Precipice".

This story would not have been possible without my Big Bang cheerleader **Macavity**, who despite her real life responsibilities always checked in and motivated me. I would also like to thank **hardly loquacious**, **Chibi**, and **Afterglow** for their unwavering support through what turned out to be a very painstaking process and finally to **forthecoast**, who is the Yin to my Yang and without whose quick editing job, I would never have made it on time. I love you ladies :).

xxx

**Part I: lost for words **

xxx**  
**

_"If I could just be_  
_Everything and everyone to you_  
_This life would just be so easy..."_

_**Present Day**_

He wakes to the faint sound of his cell phone vibrating, but instead of searching for it to silence the irritating noise, Jane simply rolls over, wincing slightly as a sliver of light hits him square in the face.

Judging by the orange hue of the sunlight cutting through the missing blinds, he can tell that it's nearing evening, but he makes no attempt to rise. The phone buzzes again, this time signaling a text message. Jane slides his hand into his inside jacket pocket and instinctively silences the ringer. He doesn't need to look at the display to know who is trying to contact him, and even though each time he doesn't answer the pressure in his chest increases, he does nothing to alleviate the ache. In fact, he welcomes it as a form of penance for everything he's done (and hasn't done) lately.

He turns on his side and towards the wall, blocking out the dimming rays of sunlight that signal a semblance of life. His eyes instinctively flicker up, just skimming the edge of the permanent scarlet caricature, the one he sees even when he closes his eyes. As the last few days have made apparent, it serves as a continual reminder of everything he has lost and everything he still continues to lose.

He's so deeply connected to his past, to this room and everything it represents, that sometimes he swears he can smell the metallic scent of blood if he concentrates hard enough, regardless of where he is. However, there is one place as of late where that theory doesn't uphold. But Jane wills himself not to think about it, about _her_, because as recent events have indicated, he should have never let himself cross that line.

He should have never let _them_ happen, regardless of how much he wanted it, because it isn't just about him anymore. He could handle the duality of searching for his family's murderer while being with someone who was so against the idea. He could handle her disapproval and even her attempts at changing his mind, at trying to show him that he wasn't beyond redemption. But it's so far beyond that now.

Because now it's about her safety, and Jane knows that if anything, anything at all, were to happen to her on his account, it would break him completely. And in doing so, it would destroy any remaining shred of faith he may have in the good in this world.

Oh no, he isn't naïve. He stopped believing in anything beyond his abilities a long time ago; not exactly cynical, but realistic nonetheless. However, Teresa Lisbon is a rarity and Jane knows it. He's aware that being in love can certainly cloud one's judgment, but even before discovering those feelings in himself and admitting them to her, Jane had known the type of person Lisbon is. He may not be a person of faith, but has marveled at Lisbon's ability to believe. Most importantly, he admires her still believing in _him_ despite everything he's vowed to do and all the turmoil he's caused her.

Yes, he's known all of that about Teresa Lisbon long before he let her kiss him outside his apartment building that night. He knows that ultimately it's those qualities about her, the ones he lacks in himself, that attracted him to her. It's her refusal to give up on him that made him fall in love with her, but now he finds himself facing a difficult decision. If he doesn't push her away, doesn't distance himself from her, those very qualities may be her undoing.

Because if there's one thing Red John has made clear by kidnapping Kristina Frye, someone who got mistakenly dragged into this out of Jane's selfish desire to prove her a fraud, it's that this game between them is no longer just about Jane. And he refuses to let Lisbon be collateral damage. He won't do that to her; he can't.

Yet just as quickly as he decides this, the last few weeks pass like a kaleidoscope of images through his mind weakening his resolve almost the moment he finds it. He'd thought that by being the one she turns to for comfort and a sliver of levity amidst the chaos that is her job, he could extract some content for himself, a shred of peace that he's denied himself for seven years now. It seemed even more perfect when they'd established boundaries, an unspoken rule between them that worked incredibly well for months.

Except Jane hadn't counted on the surge of fear and desperation that overwhelmed him when Lisbon had called him for help from the Harrington estate. He also hadn't expected the overwhelming sense of relief upon hearing her voice, or the flood of emotion that nearly crippled him upon realizing he could have really lost her.

And he most certainly hadn't anticipated falling in love with her or having her reciprocate his feelings as readily as she did. Despite everything that's happened and where he is now, Jane feels himself smiling. His lips curve upward of their own accord as he remembers fondly the way she'd smiled at him almost shyly, green eyes shining from beneath thick, dark lashes as she leaned up and kissed him when he'd told her how he felt.

She never said it back, but Jane knew then and knows now that she feels the same. Lying in this barren room that holds the ties to his past, he lets himself indulge momentarily in the faint recollection of her lips pressed to his, the smell of cinnamon and vanilla engulfing his senses as she slid against him.

But then he opens his eyes and comes face to face with the image that precipitates all of his nightmares, and just like that, thoughts of Lisbon and her warmth disintegrate, splintering like delicate glass in his mind's eye.

The blood has faded over time but the impact remains the same. It reminds Jane now as it has many times before the reason why he comes here in the first place. Why he refuses to sell this house, even though most of its sentimental value has been destroyed and all the possessions that mean something are tucked away in a storage locker two blocks from his apartment in Sacramento.

No, he doesn't come here to escape, to remember where his daughter took her first steps or where his wife spent hours playing the beautiful piano he'd bought her with his first big pay out. He comes here to remind himself of his plans, of the promise he made to his family, one he's further than ever from achieving.

He doesn't let himself think about how helpless and enraged he felt being tied to that chair while Red John taunted him, knowing the killer could end his life if he wanted to in an instant. Instead, Jane thinks about the fact that he is still alive and what that means. He may be more confused than ever, not entirely certain as to why the serial killer let him live, but he knows he's not going to waste this chance.

He can't.

Because Jane knows that as with all good things in life, one doesn't get third or fourth chances at revenge either and he has to make this one count. He _will_.

Shifting his eyes away from the wall, Jane rolls onto his back, groping the unwashed comforter for the poetry book he brought with him. The moment he opens it to the desired page however, his cell phone interrupts again. This time it's a beep signaling a new voicemail, one of many he's racked up since coming here this afternoon. There's only one person who would contact him so frequently, and the knowledge only tightens the knot in his chest because it reminds him of just how much she's compromised for him.

Lisbon would never call him so often unless she was worried, wouldn't betray her cool and calm exterior unless she really felt something was wrong, and it's only now that he realizes how selfish his actions have been, how he has barely considered her feelings in all of this.

Although, he'd been the one strapped to a chair, helpless against his arch nemesis, _she'd_ been the one frantically searching for him. _She'd_ been the one to break down the door of that run down hotel, and _she'd _been the one who tore through the saran wrap with shaky hands, attempting to control her emotions as the gravity of the situation dawned on her.

She'd rescued him…_again._

And here he was, disappeared in the middle of the day and not answering his phone. Momentarily, Jane rationalizes that Lisbon must know where he's gone, but it doesn't lessen the guilt. Instead, it amplifies it, and this time the urgency propels him forward until pushes himself off the bed and walks across the room to the door.

He knows he'll have plenty of time to think on everything as he makes the long trek back to Sacramento, including what Red John's actions mean, what his grand plan is, and how Jane will combat it.

But he can't deny that the quiet desperation with which he locks the door to his house (his past) and walks briskly to his Citroën are fueled by the image of Lisbon staring at him in relief as she rips the saran wrap from his body.

And not for the first time since he awoke this afternoon, Jane reflects on what a difference two weeks can make…

xxx

**Two weeks ago**

"Jane."

"Hmm."

"You're staring." She informs him, propping one eye open as her lips curve into a lazy smile.

"How observant of you, agent." He teases her back, sliding one finger luxuriously down her arm while placing an opened mouthed kiss to the shoulder closest to him. The slight swipe of his tongue gives way to a line of goose bumps across her collarbone.

He's on his side, pressed against her as she lies on her back, and he grins wider when he feels the slight escalation of her pulse as he kisses along her neck. He wraps his arm around her waist, surreptitiously pulling the comforter down to her hips, giving him free reign to explore the soft skin of her stomach, mapping out each freckle and curve as though this is the first time he'd had the opportunity.

In a way, Jane thinks this kind of is like their first time together. He knows they've been skirting around each other for months, hiding behind this unorthodox arrangement, afraid to admit that there was something else going on between them. And even though he figured he'd have a bit more time to ruminate on the issue, figure out how this could even work between them given all the baggage they both had (especially him), he doesn't regret the spontaneity of it all.

He doesn't regret pulling her aside after they closed the Harrington case last night, and telling her they needed to talk. He doesn't regret dragging her away from an evening of paperwork to his apartment and telling her how he truly feels as soon as they stepped through the door.

Jane doesn't remember the last time he was honestly nervous about something, but as they took the elevator to his floor, the unfamiliar churning of anxiety snuck up on him and he decided he wasn't going to wait. He hadn't thought things through at all, hadn't even wondered what her response would be, relying on his keen observational skills to steer him in the right direction.

And even though in that moment of silence right after he let the words tumble out into the space between them and Lisbon hadn't said a single word, he did feel an inkling of doubt, it disappeared the moment her lips landed on his.

If Jane is honest with himself, he hasn't had a coherent thought since, every faculty of his entirely consumed by the raven haired woman lying beneath him. Her eyes are like dark green beacons, reeling him in until there's not a centimeter of space between them.

Her sharp intake of breath as he covers the skin of her breast with his palm only spurs Jane on. He slides down the length of the bed, pressing his lips to her sternum, shuddering involuntarily as she threads her fingers through his hair.

"You do know we have to get up for work in an hour, right?"

"Mhm."

Jane doesn't abate, instead he continues to tease her, fingers sliding along the curve of her hip as he kisses the underside of her breast, a bit inebriated from the softness of her skin.

"And that I still have to drive home and change."

"Mhm."

Lisbon feels him smile against her skin and decides it's futile to negotiate at this point. So instead of trying to stop him, she gently pulls on his curls until he looks up at her, his day old stubble lightly scratching her torso as he looks up at her with eyes that are far too lively and alert for five in the morning.

"You're incorrigible, you know that?"

"Meh."

She's not exactly sure how one can shrug while in Jane's current position, but somehow he manages, raising one shoulder and tilting his head at her. "I've been called worse, by you nonetheless," he adds, then pulls himself up until they're face to face.

There's a witty retort on the tip of her tongue, but all Lisbon manages is a low chuckle as Jane's eyes grow dark to navy, sending a shiver of anticipation down to her very toes. Her hands slide from his hair down his spine, the smile fading from her lips as she feels him harden, bodies almost perfectly aligned, hip against hip.

Once she catches her breath though, Lisbon can't resist goading him and leans up to press a chaste kiss along his jaw before saying, "I'm sorry for that comment, then. What I actually meant to say is that you're insatiable."

Jane pretends to be offended for a moment but before Lisbon can claim her victory, he leans in, whispering, "Can you blame me?" against her ear before pulling her into a kiss.

She welcomes it, rising off the pillow to meet his lips, the need for foreplay quickly vanishing as his tongue traces her lower lip and slips inside her mouth. His lips brush against hers in a way that leaves her completely unaware of everything around her except Jane and the way he's pinning her down to the bed, finding his way between her thighs, wasting absolutely no time.

Last night had been about exploration, about taking the time to rediscover each other without the pretense of it being just sex hovering over them, but right now, right now it's about pure need and desire. When Jane abandons her lips in favor of her breast, Lisbon doesn't stifle the moan rising from deep within her as he runs his tongue over her roused flesh. Her hands again find themselves entwined in his hair as she pushes him closer against her, so enamored by the feel of his lips and tongue and his _teeth_ on her skin that she isn't even aware of the fingers skirting up her inner thigh until she feels them slip inside her with absolutely no resistance.

Her breath hitches in her throat as warmth bursts suddenly to all her nerve endings. Jane watches as Lisbon shuts her eyes, biting the side of her lip as he curls his fingers in just the right spot. Through the haze of arousal, Jane thinks he may not last if she keeps making these noises and unconsciously rubbing her foot against his calf.

Eventually Lisbon stops moving, instead wraps her leg around his as she searches for some leverage, a way to ride out the immense pleasure blooming inside her. Every muscle in her body feels like its on fire, and she feels the first inkling of her orgasm approaching as Jane's fingers slide over her clit.

Instinctively, Lisbon arches against his hand, tightening her grasp on his hair as Jane draws maddening circles around her sensitive flesh. His pace is unyielding, teasing her with the promise of so much more but refusing to let her reach the pinnacle. She doesn't suppress the growl of frustration that falls past her lips as she opens his eyes to find Jane watching her with a dark, lust-filled gaze.

She knows by the amusement dancing in his eyes that he's nearly expecting her to beg him, but she won't. She doesn't want games or extended foreplay, she just wants _him_. The thought should scare her because it's not just a physical desire anymore. If she's honest with herself, it hasn't been just that for months now, probably even before they first slept together and agreed to such a precarious arrangement. But after last night, hearing him say the same things that have been swirling in her mind for weeks now and sharing her fears and elation has made Lisbon less terrified of this change between them.

Perhaps she's even a little excited about the prospect of having a real relationship, despite all the obstacles standing in their way. It's a novel feeling for someone who has treaded carefully most of her life, walking a path of professionalism and composure only occasionally interspersed with bursts of excitement and spontaneity. If she weren't otherwise preoccupied at the moment, Lisbon would surely smirk at the realization that of all her impulsive detours, Patrick Jane must be the most insane and reckless one. But the loving way he presses his lips to her cheek while continuing to stroke her makes all coherent thoughts disappear from her mind, reducing her focus only to this moment and nothing else.

Desire guiding her movements, Lisbon slips her hand between their bodies, fingers gliding down smooth, hardened flesh until they reach their destination. Her lips curve into an unwitting and triumphant smile as she feels Jane spasm against her touch, biting gently into the skin below her ear as he speeds up his own ministrations.

Lisbon matches his pace with ease, dissolving them into one intertwined mess of shaking limbs; the rustling of sheets and escalating breaths the only sounds in the room. However it doesn't last for too long. At some point, Jane braces himself on his free arm and leans back to meet Lisbon's gaze. All it takes is one glance between them, a silent agreement for Jane to pull both her arms over her head and slide into her warmth.

Unconsciously, Lisbon grabs onto Jane's hand, their fingers intertwining in the circle of her dark curls, splayed across the pillow. Her knees bend slightly, feet planted firmly on the mattress if only to gain some stability against the frenzy building inside her. She doesn't stop moving though, back arching off the bed as she angles her hips against his, precipitating a string of moans from him that seem to reverberate through her entire body.

Each time Lisbon moves beneath him, Jane feels himself losing just a bit more control, his thrusts becoming more frenetic, unrestrained. Everything from the way her soft breasts press into his chest to the way his name spills effortlessly and so seductively from her lips leaves him nearly powerless against the pressure building in the pit of his stomach. The tension between them steadily rises until he can feel every ridge and curve inside her, senses attuned to every moan and every movement of her body as she writhes beneath him.

He's so incredibly lost in the feel of her surrounding him, Jane doesn't even realize how close she is until she trains her eyes on him and pulls one hand free to dig into the skin of his shoulder. Pain, however, is the last thing on his mind. The sensation of her tightening around him trumps anything else he may be feeling and it's enough to snap the last shred of his willpower. All he can do before the dam breaks is tilt her chin towards him and capture her lips, her mouth absorbing his moans.

Lisbon responds in kind, curling her hand around his neck to deepen their embrace, every nerve ending in her body splintering against the tidal wave of pleasure crashing over her. Her legs wind around Jane's hips, holding him as close as possible as they shudder together until the pressure dissipates.

Some time later, despite Lisbon's protests, Jane slides onto his back, and almost instinctually, she curls into his side, sliding her leg in between his as he wraps his arm around her waist. They lie in silence for a while, hands tracing indistinct patterns on cooling skin until Lisbon hazards a glance at the ancient alarm clock sitting on Jane's nightstand.

"Damn," she murmurs, resting her forehead against his shoulder before looking up at him.

"Hmm?"

Lisbon smirks at Jane's indifference, aware that he probably knows why she's annoyed but just doesn't care.

"I really do have to be at work in about an hour."

"Oh c'mon. Give yourself a break, woman. We solved a case last night, quite successfully if I may say so. You don't need to come in at the crack of dawn just one time." Jane slides down to face her, turning unto his side; presumably to convince her to stay in bed a little longer.

"Oh yea? And who's going to do all the paperwork, you?" Lisbon asks, the slight curve of her lip betraying her amusement.

Jane pretends to contemplate for a moment before conceding, "I guess you're right." He pauses for a moment, then adds, "Well, better get a move on then," before giving Lisbon a slight nudge off the bed.

"Hey," she exclaims, swatting his arm away as she holds the comforter to her chest. "Keep talking like that and you'll be spending your nights alone," she threatens, but Jane doesn't seem to heed her warning. Instead he pulls her towards him and catches her lips in a chaste kiss.

He slides his hand into her hair, fingering the soft chestnut strands as Lisbon runs her tongue along his lower lip. However, Jane doesn't let it escalate, certain that Lisbon will be less than pleased if she is actually late to work.

He pulls back reluctantly, only to find her looking at him with an intensity he hasn't seen before, forest green gaze revealing a vulnerability that she rarely exposes. Jane doesn't need any further indication to know that whatever she says next will be important.

"I know I didn't say anything last night, but I hope you know I do feel the same. I think I have for a while."

The shyness in her tone only disarms him further, warmth that he hasn't felt in far too long swells inside him and Jane reaches up, unable to resist running his thumb across her cheek.

"I know you do," he whispers back, not tearing his eyes away from her. He knows exactly how difficult it must be for her to open up to someone, especially him and he doesn't take it for granted, hanging on every word.

"And I do. I want to try this with you, I just, I need you to promise me something."

"Anything."

The words tumble from his mouth before he has a chance to contemplate what she could be asking, but staring into her eyes, Jane suddenly realizes that he's almost certain that whatever she requires, he will try his hardest to make it happen. He isn't sure if Lisbon believes him, but she doesn't break their gaze, pursing her lips together for a moment before taking a deep breath.

"I want you to be able to talk to me. The only way that this can work is if you don't push me away."

This time, there's no timidity in her voice, no uncertainty, words only betraying a secret need for reassurance. To know he's right here with her because it's the only way she can see them happening, given everything that awaits them outside this room.

He realizes that she hasn't just thought this through, she's already committed herself to him, to making this work. Thoughts of bloody caricatures and dead bodies and taunting serial killers disappear momentarily as Jane loses himself in this revelation and he can't help pulling Lisbon impossibly closer, burying his nose in her hair as he whispers in her ear.

"I promise."

xxx


	2. Part II: splinter

**Fractures of Reality **

Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Lyrics still by INXS.

Rating: M (for sex and language).

Spoiler: 2.23.

A/N: I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed the first part and added the story to favorite and alert lists. You guys are the reason why I write and why I feel guilty when I don't! Being sick had deterred me from posting the second part of this story but here it is and I hope you guys enjoy it.

xxx

**Part II: splinter **

xxx

"_And I was lost for words in your arms  
Attempting to make sense of my aching heart…"_

_**Present Day **_

She should have known that Jane couldn't keep his promises, not when Red John was involved anyway. However, that still doesn't stop the knot from forming beneath her ribs or her gaze from flickering to her Blackberry as it sits mutely on the edge of the desk.

She's lost track of how many times she's called him since she realized he was no longer in the bullpen. He'd slipped out sometime the day before, so quietly that none of the team had seen him, and despite having her suspicions about where he went, she still felt anxious. Whereas before she wouldn't pay much attention to Jane's comings and goings, everything is different now and what scares her is that between the two of them, she's the one who is more likely to be concerned with his safety.

It's only been three days since she, Rigsby, Cho and a SWAT team stormed the abandoned motel to which Van Pelt traced Jane's cell phone. Three days since she'd had to swallow the bile rising in her throat as she frantically tore at the saran wrap holding Jane captive while he stared at her with a blank expression. She'd felt it then, that something horrific had happened to him and he'd only needed to nod at her silent question, while attempting to stop the involuntary tremors of his body in the aftermath, to confirm what she'd known all along.

Perhaps if she had more time to reflect on it, she'd find the whole situation to be tinged with the kind of bitter irony that only occurs in well written fiction. But now, even three days after, all she can think about is how she never thought that Red John could inflict more torture on Jane than he already has and how damn wrong she was about that.

If Minelli were around, he'd smile humorlessly and say the serial killer has certainly upped the ante by toying with Jane like he did, but it makes her sick, makes her furious with anger at the injustice of it all. She'd always thought that half of Jane's torment in the last seven years was self-inflicted. His inability to grieve properly and accept what had happened to his family only catered to Red John's agenda. However, she can't say the same about what occurred three nights ago.

It makes her furious when she thinks about everything that elusive monster has done to everyone around her, whose lives he's taken and how he's toyed with people's emotions. Not for the first time since it happened, Lisbon feels her fists curling at her sides, angry vicious thoughts that feel suspiciously like vengeance surfacing before she can stop them. The difference, of course, is that she'd never see them through, never dare to tread off the path of fairness and justice she's been walking since before she earned her badge and gun.

But she can't say the same for Jane, and that's what terrifies her the most. While she was pulling him off that chair, she'd mentally prepared a speech to convince him to get checked out by a paramedic, but when she suggested it, he'd agreed without a fight. He just nodded mutely and let the EMT take his blood pressure and check his vitals.

She'd stuck to him the entire time, barking orders from the inside of the ambulance while the rest of her team cleared the scene. Jane had barely uttered a word the entire time the EMT worked on him and willingly consented to being driven to her apartment later that night, after being sufficiently interrogated by Hightower.

After about an hour of Jane barely answering Hightower's questions, Lisbon pulled her boss out of the conference room and calmly suggested that they try again the next day. The man was so obviously still in shock, despite his lackluster mutterings of "I'm fine" and his tight smiles, that eventually Hightower consented.

Secretly, Lisbon had hoped that Jane would open up to her when they were alone, but all he'd done when they walked into her house was slip his shoes and jacket off, unbutton his vest, and slide onto the couch, falling asleep within minutes.

The steady rise and fall of his chest indicated that he wasn't just feigning sleep to avoid talking to her, so she'd let him rest, falling asleep in an armchair besides him. She had not wanted to move him upstairs but was somehow afraid that if she went into the bedroom, he would leave in the middle of the night and not come back.

It hadn't occurred to her then, but subconsciously she'd already been hedging her bets, wondering when he'd escape. She wouldn't admit it out loud, but the moment their eyes connected in that motel, she'd known that whatever step they had taken, whatever declarations of love and promises made not too long ago would crumble under the weight of reality, creating tiny fractures in their already delicate foundation.

When she'd woken up alone in her own bed the next morning, for a moment she really thought he had left, but the tiny bit of relief she had felt upon discovering him still downstairs disappeared very quickly as the morning wore on. There was nothing unusual about his behavior and yet something was off. He'd cornered her with a long, overdue kiss by the refrigerator but it didn't feel right, and he'd tried to engage her in conversation while purposefully avoiding discussion of anything tied to the day before.

Still, she is tenacious, always has been by nature, and when they both realized she'd have to drive him to work because he'd left his car there, she turned off the sink water, dried her hands on the dish towel and said, "You know we need to talk about it at some point."

She saw that he was about to put on a face of denial, but at the very last second, his façade slipped and he braced himself against the counter, imploring her with his eyes as he promised,

"Later."

She didn't believe him.

It was strange after that because she didn't even bother trying to bring it up again. Hightower got nothing out of him aside from the perfunctory responses, and while the rest of the team quietly completed the mountain of paperwork for the Sparrow case, Jane made occasional trips to the kitchenette for tea and alternated between taking naps and reading from a thin black book that materialized on his desk at some point that day.

Still, it was hard to remain upset with him given what happened, and somehow as the day wore on, her patience with him grew. And when he'd taken her home that night, enveloping her in a hug almost as soon as they'd walked through the door, thoughts of getting him to talk gave way to an intense feeling of protectiveness and relief.

All she wanted was to hold him, have a physical reassurance that he was okay. Finally, he was here, warm and solid, and somewhere in the not so distant past he'd told her he loved her and meant it. She didn't kiss him though. Afraid that it wouldn't feel right again, that it was too _soon_ after what happened, that it would destroy the delicate equilibrium they established behind closed doors.

Besides it felt good to be this close to him again.

So good that she abandoned her plan of talking to him in favor of silent moments of comfort, of real tangible human contact, of an unspoken understanding between them.

It lasted until morning.

When she felt the first harsh rays of sunlight on her face the next day, everything came crashing down on her. She knew that as much as they both needed the quiet solitude of the night before, they needed to talk, not only about what happened to Jane but also about what would happen to them now.

Except unlike the morning before, she actually woke up to an empty house. A note scribbled hastily and left on the cold pillow besides her let her know that he had gone home for a change of clothes and that he'd see her at work.

Perhaps some time away from him is what she'd really needed to face reality because by the time she'd arrived at work, a strong cup of coffee in her grasp and a mountain of unfinished paperwork on her desk, she decided that she wouldn't put it off any longer.

She skimmed the transcript from Jane's interview with Hightower, even though she'd witnessed the whole thing behind the one-way mirror, and walked out into the bullpen, glad to see it almost deserted except for Jane, sitting on his couch, apparently deep in thought.

She watched him from afar for a few moments, leaning against the interior of the bullpen, studying his face as it contorted into an expression that could only be described as concealed turmoil. She felt a knot forming in her stomach, coiling tighter and tighter with every passing moment as she realized just how deeply affected he'd been by the experience of facing down Red John.

Her heart broke for him, but at the same time frustration seeped deep into her bones at the realization that as usual, the stubborn Patrick Jane was going to handle this all alone. That awareness seemed to propel her forward until she was standing right besides him. Affecting as calm a tone as she could under the circumstances, she'd asked him if he was okay.

He eventually looked up at her, some of those worry lines dissolving on his forehead, but not enough to convince her as he lied.

She figured with Jane, it would be par for the course. He'd never admit that he wasn't okay, especially not when the harsh sunlight exposed all his insecurities. She'd been okay with that. But when she'd asked him if he was sure if Red John said nothing, and he waited just a fraction of a second to answer her, _that_ lie hurt.

It hurt even more because when he cast his eyes down afterward, she realized that he knew he had purposefully deceived her, and that angered her more than anything. However, instead of picking a fight, she pursed her lips, nodded, and retreated to her office to lick her wounds, thinking she'd have plenty of time to berate him later.

Except when she'd slipped out into the bullpen later that day, he was nowhere to be seen and even though she instinctively knew that he'd gone to his old house, it didn't stop her from trying his cell more times than she'd like because if they were going to work as a couple, they needed to talk to each other.

He'd _promised_ her.

Except of course, this was exactly what she had been afraid of all along; the shutting out, the random disappearances, the unanswered telephone calls and voice mails, and worst of all, being _that _woman, the one who waited by the phone, hoping her calls were returned.

Well, she'd promised _herself _a long time ago that she would never be like that, never let a man get to her the way she'd seen men get to women in her line of work, and unlike Jane, she kept the promises she made.

So at some point that day, she'd reached over and switched off her Blackberry. They had no new cases and anyone who needed her could reach her through her extension. Yes, it was a petulant move, but she was so tired of being the mature, responsible one, especially where Jane was concerned.

Still, it doesn't stop her from glancing at her phone as she flips through the pages of her report and it doesn't stop her from wondering what Jane is doing at this very minute. She knows he won't do something reckless like hurting himself. Ironically, his revenge is her best ally in that case, but it doesn't stop the tight coil of worry from forming inside her, making her pour all her energy into the paperwork in front of her, if only to find something else to occupy her mind.

She's so preoccupied with the papers, she doesn't realize she's not alone until the woman standing next to her desk speaks,

"Agent Lisbon, working in the bullpen this evening?"

Madeleine Hightower isn't the first bureaucrat Lisbon has encountered on the job, but Hightower is the first boss that Lisbon can't quite figure out. She knows the woman isn't deluded enough to believe that Jane isn't a loose canon, but all her actions since her assignment have supported that very notion nonetheless. Regardless, Lisbon still refuses to believe that someone as intelligent as her new boss doesn't have an agenda. So Lisbon keeps her skepticism high but her defiance low, placing Hightower in the same ranks as high profile politicians and other important persons who must be placated on a case.

However, today her patience is low and her frustration is high, which doesn't bode well for her politeness with the dark-skinned woman, especially not when Lisbon feels she's about to be interrogated.

"Yes ma'am." She nods curtly, squaring her shoulders again, "I felt a change of scenery might be good."

Hightower folds her arms over her chest, obviously finding Lisbon's answer to be satisfactory as she looks around the room. Lisbon takes the opportunity to return to her paperwork, hoping Hightower will take the hint and just leave.

Except she doesn't and after a moment of silence, Lisbon places her pen down again and asks, "Was there something you needed?"

It's not exactly rude, but her question lacks her usual neutral tone, betraying both the exhaustion and frustration she is currently battling. Lisbon is not prepared for the flash of concern that crosses Hightower's face. Although she is surprised, Lisbon maintains eye contact, blinking several times in hopes that the flash of emotion on her boss's face was just that, a flash. Only, time passes and the concern in Hightower's eyes doesn't fade.

It sets Lisbon on edge.

She's well aware that the Sparrow case had been her boss's first real experience working with an unhinged Jane, and although it seems that this has stripped away some of Hightower's bravado, Lisbon now wonders how the dynamic will change now that Jane's baggage has been exposed.

This only serves to fuel her irritation, both with herself and the situation; she doesn't need anyone's concern, least of all Hightower's. The thought does cross her mind that, if anything, Hightower witnessing how unruly Jane can be during a case could work in Lisbon's favor, but in the end, she knows nothing is ever that simple.

So Lisbon doesn't wait for a response. Instead she quickly stands up and gathers all the files on the desk, deciding that perhaps working here, even if it gave her peace of mind for a few hours, was a mistake.

Almost unconsciously, her eyes flicker towards the brown, battered, _empty_ couch; perhaps that is her real mistake because it exposes a chink in her armor, and she barely has time to divert her gaze before Hightower speaks.

"You're worried about him, aren't you?"

The question doesn't have a trace of malice in it, not a hint of suspicion or sarcasm, but Lisbon doesn't say anything for a moment. On the one hand, Hightower may now be her greatest ally, someone who can actually have some sway with Jane, if not on a personal level, then certainly on a professional level. And maybe, if Lisbon actually does voice her concern (as one colleague about another of course), perhaps Hightower could help her reach the unruly consultant.

Yet as much as Lisbon wants to believe it would be that easy, she feels herself unable to reply honestly, if at all. Hightower may have her own reasons for targeting Lisbon and giving Jane continuous get-out-of-jail-free cards, but Lisbon still remembers the sting of being suspended, the frustration over having her leadership skills questioned. She still remembers the hurt she felt when Hightower had basically told her she was expendable.

And just like that, her decision is made.

"You'll have the Sparrow case report on your desk by tomorrow morning," she replies smoothly before walking out of the bullpen, not even turning around to gauge her boss's reaction.

There will be time for damage control later.

She keeps it together until she reaches her office, but when she dumps her files on the desk, the triplicate forms scattering across the otherwise pristine surface, Lisbon starts to feel her hands shake. She decides right then that it's time to go home before she has a breakdown at work.

However, when she begins to gather what's left of her paperwork, amidst the crime scene photos and the witness statements, she finds the report update on Frye from her liaison in the Missing Persons Unit and she immediately sits back down in her chair. Seeing the redhead's name printed neatly on the front page with her most recent photograph underneath it makes the situation far too real and far too immediate.

Amidst all the chaos, Lisbon hasn't even thought about the missing psychic until now, and it leaves her with a bad taste in her mouth. The circumstances of Frye's involvement in the case feel like something out of a bad comedy, and she leans back against the chair, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she shuts her eyes.

She wonders, not for the first time since it happened, how Jane managed to convince her that taking Frye out to dinner would be a good way to figure out what she knows, which he was certain had something to do with Red John.

In hindsight, Lisbon can't help but smile humorlessly at the situation.

She realizes that in all her years of working with Jane, there have only been a handful of times when one of his hunches wasn't accurate, and more often than not, even the ones that were not entirely accurate had some grain of truth in them.

It is almost bitterly ironic that it would be this particular situation in which Jane appears to be completely and utterly wrong.

Especially given how certain he was that Kristina Frye of all people was in cahoots with Red John.

xxx

_**One Week Ago **_

It's not the candle light that tips her off, or the fancy plate settings, or even the incredibly delicious but atypical smells coming from the stovetop. Despite the rarity of it all, she is aware of Jane's slightly romantic streak, that part that likes to wine and dine and impress, so she wouldn't be suspicious of his motives if it weren't for one small detail.

Despite their shared predilection for sweets, particularly dark chocolate, there is one dessert that she absolutely loves that he can't stand. And when Lisbon sees the almond tart in a box from Marie's sitting innocently on the countertop in the corner of her kitchen, she immediately realizes Jane has either already screwed up and is trying to lessen the blow or he is about to do something to which she will definitely object.

Either way, she carefully sets her purse and jacket on the love seat and approaches the kitchen with caution, eyebrow raised even before Jane greets her from his place at the stove.

"I am very glad you came home at a reasonable hour on your own, otherwise it would have been extremely bothersome to have to go get you and come back here to finish all this up."

His voice is melodic, lightly teasing, and she can't deny that when he says home, a tiny flutter of warmth sprouts inside her. It's a double edged sword really, because on the one hand, having someone around for the first time in years fills the void she'd been trying hard to ignore, but on the other hand, when that person is Jane, her chances of getting hurt double immediately.

Still, as she walks up to the table and the delicious smell fully permeates her senses, Lisbon reasons that it's a little too late to be treading carefully, especially not in the week since the Harrington case when everything changed between them.

Instead, she reaches for the uncorked bottle of wine and pours herself a glass, before replying, "So this is where you disappeared off to in the middle of the afternoon?"

"Well I had to beat the evening supermarket lines if I wanted to have this done before your arrival." He shoots a quick smile over his shoulder and Lisbon takes the cue to saunter up to him, perching herself by the counter.

"And there wouldn't be any particular reason you decided to cook a gourmet feast on a Wednesday night?"

Jane looks away from the pot he's stirring to meet her eye and the sheepish smile on his face gives him away, "Case closed risotto?"

Lisbon raises her eyebrow at him over the rim of her wine glass before smirking, "I'd believe that if it weren't for the almond tart sitting on my kitchen counter." She nods in the direction of the store bought dessert.

"But it's your favorite." Jane deadpans, setting the wooden spoon aside and switching off the burners.

"Exactly," Lisbon exclaims, "which tells me one of two things. Either you did something I'm not going to like and I'll hear about it tomorrow from Hightower or you're going to do something I'm not going to like so you're trying to lessen the blow."

For a second, Jane looks surprised, but it lasts only momentarily, replaced with a blinding smile by the time he transfers the risotto to a serving dish and moves to the table.

"Can we at least have dinner first? Experience tells me people tend to lose their appetite when they're distracted or angry about something."

"So you admit it then," Lisbon probes, leaning against the counter smugly.

"Admit what?" Jane feigns innocence, busying himself with arranging the silverware exactly to his liking, which she is certain is just another diversion tactic.

"That you did this for a reason." She gestures towards the table, a slight eye roll betraying her impatience.

Jane smiles again then and walks up to her, lacing his warm hand through hers and peering at her with imploring eyes. "All I want right now is to have dinner with you and talk about your day and just enjoy your company. Can we do that?"

They've known each other for way too long for Lisbon not to know when Jane is trying to charm her into doing something, but there's a rare hint of vulnerability in his hopeful gaze that thaws her defenses a little. She smiles in spite of herself, and nods, allowing him to lead her to the table.

Still, the question of why he's gone to all this trouble when they've just closed a very grueling and confusing case lingers on her mind all throughout dinner. As soon as the dishes are washed, leftovers are put away, and they're sitting on the couch in her living room, not even the heavenly taste of her favorite dessert can deter Lisbon from asking what's been on her mind.

"Okay, so seriously. What did you do?"

Her smile evens out a little as she locks eyes with him. For the first time all evening, a hint of real worry sets in and she sets the dessert aside, no longer as appealing to her as before.

"I uh, I asked Kristina Frye out for coffee."

It's ironic to her that despite the clear implication behind Jane's words, thoughts of infidelity don't even enter her mind. Instead, Lisbon finds herself searching for a plausible reason why Jane would ask out a woman who has done nothing but grate on his nerves and test his belief about psychics.

Of course, she'd noticed the redhead's interest in Jane, but for some reason it merely amused her instead of bothering her. Perhaps if they were open about their relationship, it would annoy her, but Lisbon has never been the jealous type and she really couldn't fault Kristina for enjoying Jane's company and trying to ruffle his feathers a little.

Lisbon had also noticed that despite his claims to the contrary, Jane was at the very least intrigued by the self-proclaimed psychic. However, if there was one fact about Jane of which Lisbon is certain it's his dislike of infidelity, so instead of letting herself venture down that path, she resorts to humor to relieve the tension between them.

"If this is about that threesome…"

Her voice trails off and she can't suppress the smile on her face when Jane's head snaps up and he narrows his eyes at her. He doesn't say anything for a while, just looks at her as if he's trying to discern exactly what she's trying to accomplish by teasing him. Eventually though, he just smiles ruefully and reaches out to grasp her hand, squeezing it lightly.

"You know most women would assume something a little more obvious."

She realizes instantly that only Jane would have the audacity to say something like that and she shakes her head at him, "Well wouldn't most men who planned to cheat admit so afterward, if at all?"

Her words stump Jane for just a moment, and he runs his thumb idly over her knuckles as he looks ahead for a moment before turning to look at her again. "Hmm, I suppose you have a point."

A few moments pass in silence, and even though Lisbon stubbornly refuses to be the one to break it, the longer they sit together, the more that seed of anxiety grows within her. Eventually, she can't handle it anymore and leans forward a little.

"If this isn't about 'the obvious', then what is it about?"

She doesn't realize she's actually holding her breath until Jane runs his thumb across her wrist bone and says, "It's about Red John."

Lisbon isn't sure whether the surprise registers on her face, but she's positive Jane can sense the confusion in her entire demeanor. Either way, she feels a little foolish for not seeing it earlier. She should know by now that whenever Jane has ridiculous, off-the-wall ideas, they're somehow connected to the elusive killer who murdered his family. Still, she can't help wondering what asking Kristina Frye out has to do with anything on Jane's agenda.

Sensing her perplexity, Jane doesn't wait for the inevitable question before explaining.

"When we went to speak to the widow this morning, on the way there Kristina asked me if there had been any developments in the Red John case. She also mentioned how devastating it must have been when Bosco's team was murdered and Minelli retired."

For a moment, Lisbon ignores how the mention of her old mentor sends an involuntary shiver down her spine and spurs a slew of unpleasant recollections. Instead, she focuses on connecting the dots, attempting to understand how Jane jumped from point A to point B.

He seems to track her thoughts for the first time since they settled on the couch, focusing on her reaction instead of trying to conceal his own.

"I know it may sound ludicrous to you. In fact, I know you think this is just another straw I'm grasping at, but she seemed too interested in the topic, asking me questions about the fall out from the shooting and if we ever established any leads."

"And you don't think that's just her curiosity?"

Lisbon can't help but interrupt, another less sinister theory for Frye's interest in Red John sprouting to the surface.

"Maybe." Jane shrugs, eyes finally diverting to his lap, "But I have to try right?"

Thoughts of what feels like an entirely different time flood through Lisbon's mind as Jane poses that rhetorical question. She remembers the Renfrew case vividly. Sometimes when she closes her eyes the scene in that bathroom is the first thing she sees, but she also keeps memories of that case close to remind herself that despite his lack of judgment when it comes to Red John, Jane instincts are rarely wrong. Still, this particular situation is different and she bites her lip before tugging on Jane's hand to get his attention again.

"I know you do, but this is different, Patrick."

The use of his first name seems to surprise him the most and Lisbon understands why. Whereas he calls her Teresa almost on a daily basis, she rarely calls him by anything other than his surname.

"How?" He asks simply, not wasting any time.

Lisbon clears her throat, not sure if mentioning what she suspects may cause more problems than just letting Jane go through with his plan. After all, it's not like he has any ulterior motive and clearly he's not interested in Kristina Frye. Yet, the knowledge that Jane may be leading the redhead on doesn't sit well with Lisbon.

"Well, have you ever considered the fact that maybe the reason Kristina asked so many questions about Red John is because she might be interested in you?"

For a second, Jane appears clearly dumbfounded, before his expression dissolves into what Lisbon can only describe as a frustrated grimace.

"Oh no, not you too." He moans, leaning back to rest his head on the back of the couch, before rubbing a tired hand across his eyes.

This time, Lisbon really_ is _confused and lets him know so.

"Jane, what are you talking about?"

"Oh nothing." He shakes his head, sitting up straighter to look at her. For a second Lisbon almost detects shyness in his demeanor, but she doesn't think much of it, is not even sure if Jane is capable of such an emotion.

She only realizes why he's slightly uncomfortable with the topic when he finally regales her with the awkward exchange he had with Hightower that morning when they'd spotted Kristina in Lisbon's office. By the end of it, Lisbon can't help but laugh a little at the absurdity of it all.

It seems as though they really are fooling everyone at the office. Still, her levity subsides quickly when she realizes she must now explain why she thinks Frye may be interested in Jane.

"She asked me about you, you know," Lisbon says after her laughter subsides. "I think she wanted to know if you were seeing anyone."

At this, Jane doesn't look so surprised but rather thoughtful actually, fixing Lisbon with a curious look as he turns his body sideways to face her. "Did you tell her the truth?" he asks, the beginnings of a slightly impish smile evident on his face.

Lisbon raises an eyebrow at him warily, wondering whether he's serious or merely teasing.

"No, should I have?"

"Oh no," Jane shakes his head, realizing she must have thought he was seriously considering she tell Kristina Frye that they were involved. "We agreed to keep it between us for now, and it would be entirely foolish to let Kristina of all people in on our little secret, but you do make an interesting argument."

Lisbon nods, willing him to go on, but Jane pauses, taking the moment to scoot even closer, pulling her against him so he can wrap his arms around her. Somehow the discussion of another woman's interest in him has made him acutely aware of the woman who bears_ his_ interest, and it reminds him of how lucky he is.

Despite popular belief, he hasn't had a lot of personal experience with women, utterly devoted to his wife since they met as teenagers. And regardless the temptations thrown his way in his previous line of work, the only other woman he'd ever slept with was currently being subjected to his crazy ideas, which involved taking other women to dinner.

Jane is enough of a student of human nature to know that most women would freak out and accuse him of cheating by now, or at the very least stew with jealousy until they really turned green. The fact that Lisbon is so logical about this makes him both appreciate her more and feel twice as guilty for bringing it up.

Still, regardless of how selfish this may make him, there's a part of him that's yearning to find any information that could aid him in his quest for vengeance, and he simply cannot ignore his hunch where Kristina Frye is involved.

"You're still going to go out with her, aren't you?"

Jane isn't remotely surprised that Lisbon figured it out. He's not sure if it's a good thing, but she seems to read him just as well if not better than he can read her. He can't resist the swell of gratitude as he detects the acceptance in her tone.

She isn't angry with him and she won't contest his decision except to tell him not to get his hopes up. And that knowledge makes him want to give her everything he possibly can at this moment, which he knows isn't a fraction of what she deserves.

He's also aware that bribing her with future plans is a selfish away to assuage his own guilt, but he can't help himself. He tightens his arms around her, taking comfort in the warmth of her body against his as he speaks, "Regardless of what happens, I think we should take a few days off sometime soon. I'd like to go with you to San Francisco, maybe you can show me some of your old stomping grounds."

Lisbon instantly realizes what he's doing, Jane can tell by the way she leans away from his embrace and looks over her shoulder at him, "Really? Are you sure it won't be suspicious if we both ask for annual leave at the same time?"

For a moment, Jane pushes aside any ill feeling he may have about his intended plans and runs his thumb across Lisbon's lower lip affectionately. "You taking time off alone will create a big enough diversion that no one will notice that I'm gone."

Lisbon's eyes widen in mock offense, before she dissolves into a smile and swats his arm in retaliation. "Oh hush you. I wouldn't be saying that if you want to sleep in my bed tonight."

Her warning is empty, but the ironic fact that his other actions should warrant such a threat doesn't elude Jane. Feeling a sense of gratitude that he wants nothing more than to express, Jane leans over and captures her lips in an impromptu kiss.

Eventually they pull apart, but Lisbon's hand immediately gravitates to his cheek, caressing the hard line of his jaw as her expression turns more somber.

"You do what you have to do but…"

"I know."

Jane cuts her off, perfectly aware that she's skeptical at the very least. He's afraid that if she voices her concerns, she may change his mind and a tiny little part of him, that's still stuck on revenge, cannot discard the possibility that Kristina Frye may be a link to Red John.

Instead, he moves the hand that's on his cheek and kisses her palm, not tearing his eyes away from her.

"Thank you" he whispers against her skin.

Even though Lisbon settles back in his arms as if nothing has happened, the smile she gives him in return doesn't quite reach her eyes. Jane feels a certain weight hanging between them and he shuts his eyes in quiet contemplation, hoping that he hasn't somehow just damaged the best thing that has happened to him in seven years because of a hunch.

xxx


	3. Part III: on the mend

**Fractures of Reality **

Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Lyrics still by INXS.

Rating: M (for sex and language).

Spoiler: 2.23.

A/N: I am SO sorry for the late update but real life and my other story got in the way and I forgot to post this up earlier. I want to thank everyone to read and reviewed this, but particularly **Afterglow**, who has been an amazing supporter of this story and has only encouraged me in my writing. Also, as always thanks to my amazing beta, **forthecoast**. There's a reason why I think she should charge money for her editing services ;).

xxx

**Part III: on the mend **

xxx

"_We will make time stop for the two of us  
Make time stop and listen for our sighs…"_

_**Present Day**_

She doesn't notice him right away. Instead, it's the familiar pair of scuffed brown shoes that alerts her to his presence. Lisbon rests her head against the doorframe for a moment in an attempt to understand what she's feeling, but except for the mild relief at seeing that he is okay, the rest of her emotions are unclear.

It's only when he rises off the couch and stretches leisurely as if nothing is wrong that Lisbon finally realizes exactly what she's feeling.

The surge of anger comes suddenly, but in a way, she's been expecting it. After all, she'd sent him numerous text messages, left voice mails, acted completely out of character just to make sure that he was okay, and _this_ was how he responded?

"So good of you to break into my place again." She tries to keep the bitterness out of her tone, but given Jane's nonchalant expression, she is unsuccessful.

Instead of waiting for a response however, she drops her purse by the door and walks into the kitchen, deciding that she will not disrupt her usual after-work routine for him.

Jane follows her of course, but she ignores him, peering into the half stocked refrigerator for the leftovers she's been looking forward to since she skipped lunch that afternoon.

"I didn't want to go back to the office and risk being glared at by Hightower, so I just came here and decided to wait for you. I hope that's okay." His voice is almost apologetic. Lisbon knows that if she hazards a glance in his direction, he'll have his most endearing mask on, the one designed to mollify anyone who may be displeased with him.

But she's not ready to let go of her anger, and she doesn't want to be seduced by his blue eyes and heart melting smile.

So instead, she pulls out the plastic container and closes the refrigerator door with more force than necessary. She makes it to the counter before her ire gets the best of her.

"Okay?" she grits through her teeth, popping the top off and depositing the dish into the microwave. "No it's not okay."

She punches in the numbers and turns around to finally look at him. The first thing that comes to mind is that he looks incredibly lost. He's wearing the same suit he wore yesterday, and there is about two days' worth of stubble on his chin, but it's his eyes and posture that really get to her.

He's looking at her, but his stare is almost blank while he all but sags against the archway into her kitchen. For the first time today, Lisbon is once again confronted with the physical ramifications of what happened in that motel four days ago.

Still, it's not enough to allay her indignation. Instead of walking up to him and pulling him into her arms like she finds herself wanting to do with every passing moment, Lisbon merely folds her arms over her torso and fixes him with a narrowed stare.

"It's not okay, Jane and you know why."

He shifts his gaze away from her, somewhere past her right shoulder and merely shrugs. "I'm sorry, but I had to get away."

He glances back at her briefly, and it's enough confirmation that he's neither sincere in his apology nor is he attempting to hide it. Lisbon feels another surge of anger, this one settling deep in her bones, spurring her frustration.

Still, she is nothing if not logical and levelheaded and she gives herself a moment to calm down, relying on her dwindling reserve of patience to help her through this.

"I understand that," she says evenly, keeping her breathing as steady as possible. "But you should have called, Jane."

She's not sure whether he's surprised by how mildly she's reacting ,but eventually he takes a step forward and nods in agreement. "I know I should have called."

And it's in this moment that her patience runs out and she feels herself loosing a grip on her composure. The fact that he makes no attempts at explaining himself or even coming up with excuses only infuriates her more and she casts her gaze down, refusing to be reeled in by his magnetic blue gaze.

She doesn't want to ask him, but a part of her is eternally optimistic that one of these days perhaps he won't disappoint her, that maybe he really will have an explanation for some of the things he does.

"Why didn't you then?" She asks quietly, and the words hang suspended in the silence between them long enough for her to lose the tiny shred of hope she had. Jane seems to be slightly bewildered by her straightforward question, and even though seeing him speechless is a rarity, Lisbon doesn't stay long enough to enjoy it.

"Yeah, I figured," She murmurs under her breath before pushing herself off the counter. "I'm going upstairs to change. When I come down, you better not be here."

He stands so still in the middle of her kitchen that Lisbon doesn't expect him to block her way, but when she feels his touch, she stops immediately. It's just the press of two fingers on her upper arm, but it's enough to halt her movement. Regardless of how deep her anger goes, she doesn't want to have him leave so she can spend the night oscillating between sulking and worrying about him. In the depths of her heart, behind all the hurt and rage, she wants to forgive him, wants to be there for him. In a way, that's what makes it so hard.

"In all our years of working together, I've withstood you lying to me, going behind my back, angering suspects, aggravating my boss, and leaving me with mountains of paperwork, and I never asked you for anything. When you told me how you felt, I asked you to make me one promise and you broke it."

Lisbon tries not to flinch at the effect her words have on Jane, determined to tell him exactly how she feels before she loses the courage to do so. Without tearing her eyes away from his, she adds, "How am I supposed to have faith in whatever this is between us if at the first sign of danger, I can't even count on you to keep your word?"

Jane still doesn't say anything, but he narrows his eyes at her, and she can feel his breath escalate, especially when she steps away from him. She doesn't make it past the entryway to her kitchen when she hears him behind her.

"It's not that simple, Teresa."

And whatever patience and resolve and grace she thought she had seems to dissolve in an instant.

"Not that simple?" she repeats, voice rising. "All you had to do, Jane, was pick up the damn phone and tell me that you were safe. What could be easier than that?"

It takes her by surprise when he suddenly moves out of the kitchen and comes toward her as if some unknown force has pushed him into action. By the time he enters the living room, coming to stand directly in front of her, his eyes are bright, his carefully constructed mask slipping dangerously.

"What if I had called you and he'd figure out somehow that we're involved? What if he realized where you lived or where you get your morning coffee? Don't you realize that by being in contact with me, your life is at risk?"

A cold shiver runs down her spine as she absorbs Jane's words. She feels both ashamed and annoyed by this, because a part of her hadn't even considered that Red John would be influencing Jane so deeply. But in retrospect it makes perfect sense that he would be afraid to call her when he'd just experienced an encounter with such a dangerous man, the same one who took his family and dozens of other lives.

Still, the other part of her can't help but be irritated that Jane doesn't have enough faith in her to protect herself. "You wouldn't have put my life in danger with one phone call, Jane."

She also wants to tell him that his very presence in her home defies his own logic, but she's afraid that he hasn't quite figured it out himself yet and if he realizes it, he may actually leave. Selfishly, that's the last thing she wants right now.

Jane exhales in frustration as he steps away from her, running his hand through his hair before looking at her again. "You don't get it, do you?"

"No," Lisbon spits back at him, irritation once again takes precedence as she watches him pace the room like a caged animal. "Why don't you enlighten me."

Jane stops at her sarcastic tone. For a moment, she feels guilty for it, but it's fleeting. When approaches her again, this time with more resolve in his movements, she faces him head on.

"Having Kristina disappear is one thing. It's my fault, but I can deal with it. I can find ways to rationalize it regardless of how guilty I feel-…"

Lisbon attempts to cut him off, annoyed that he keeps forgetting that even if his hunch had turned out to be incredibly wrong, the self-proclaimed psychic was still arrogant enough to repeat Jane's most egregious mistake. But he doesn't let her talk, placing a solitary finger against her lips.

Normally, Lisbon would shove his hand away, but something in the way he looks at her stops her from doing so. With every passing second, a bit more of his mask disappears, and he's finally standing before her fully exposed, fear and vulnerability mixing uncomfortably in his eyes.

"But if I lose _you_. If something happens to _you_…"

His voice tapers off, and Lisbon immediately feels a tug on her heart when she realizes that the idea of her getting hurt is so painful that he can't even say it out loud. She knows she shouldn't be so yielding and most importantly, she knows this doesn't solve anything, but before she can talk herself out of it, her hand slides to his lap, fingers interlacing with his.

"Nothing will happen to me, Patrick."

"You don't know that," Jane counters, attempting to push her away, but she can see that he doesn't really want to and she hangs on, squeezing his hand tightly as he takes an exhausting breath.

"I do." Lisbon asserts, setting aside her own feelings to drive the point home. "I'm a cop, remember? I can protect myself."

He looks at her then, ready to rebut, but he doesn't dare bring up Bosco or the three other perfectly capable CBI agents who died at the bidding of Red John and never even saw it coming. Instead, he glances down at their hands and runs his thumb over her knuckles, a habit Lisbon has kept track of ever since he started doing it.

"I want to do right by you, Teresa, I do. And you know how I feel about you, but what happened changes everything. I've already lost my family once; I can't bear to lose it again."

She's never considered herself an overly sentimental person, at least not in relationships, but to hear Jane of all people refer to her as family triggers something inside her. Lisbon stands up, situating herself between Jane's parted legs as she cradles his head between her palms, willing him to look at her.

"You won't lose me, Patrick."

"You can't ensure that, especially not with me around," he counters, catching her a little off guard with the defeated look in his eye. Yet regardless of what Jane chooses to believe at the moment, the very fact that he's here, finally opening up to her, lifts a tremendous weight off her shoulders, relieving the ache she's carried with her for days now. And despite the precariousness of their situation and the knowledge that Jane might actually be right, for the first time since she arrived home, Lisbon feels an acute sense of comfort and hope renewed.

If there's one thing she's learned from years in law enforcement, it is that small victories are not to be taken for granted. The fact that Jane is safe and willingly came to her, even after his numerous attempts to push her away, is not something Lisbon will overlook. So she runs her thumb across his cheek and lets her lips curve into a rueful smile as she meets his eye.

"You're right. I can't guarantee it, but I promise to try, okay?"

She's not sure whether Jane actually nods because he believes her or if it's just the exhaustion finally catching up to him. But either way, as he wraps his arms around her and buries his face in her neck, she simply returns the embrace, running her fingers through his curls in what she hopes to be a soothing gesture.

She's not naïve by any means. She knows that night in the motel changed everything, not just between them but for the entire Red John case. Lisbon is also aware that she may never know exactly what went down between the two men. However, there are a few truths of which she is certain. One is that despite his flaws, Jane cares for her, cares enough to consider her family, to ignore his instincts and show up at her door.

And the second is that unlike others, Lisbon seldom makes promises, but when she does, she will do anything to keep them.

And not even Red John has the power to take that away from her.

xxx


End file.
